Broken Angel
by Moonlight Phoenix1
Summary: [ON HIATUS] Ron's love for Draco gets out of hand and he starts following him. What happens when one night, Draco catches him?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: OK, this is my first fic of this particular pairing and it's quite short, but I might write a second chapter if I get enough reviews (hint hint)!  
  
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Apart from the plot. And the words. That I'VE written. Obviously. Ahem, anyway, enough rambling for now (I always seem to ramble in my a/ns), and off to the story we go!  
  
  
  
  
  
Broken Angel  
  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
  
  
I'm hiding in the bushes under Harry's cloak. I'm on Hogwarts grounds after curfew. I don't care. I've done this millions of times. Each and every time to follow . . . Him.  
  
Every day I stare at Him. Every single day.  
  
And he doesn't spare me a glance.  
  
Or a thought, probably. Or even an insult.  
  
Harry always waves his hand in front of my face for about five minutes before he gives up and starts talking to Hermione.  
  
Not even my best friend can distract me from staring at Him.  
  
He's an angel. I know. I've seen Him without his mask on.  
  
I've snuck out at night many times. With Harry's cloak on, of course. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if he ever found out that I was 'borrowing' it.  
  
Every night I follow Him, watch him. He always goes to his spot just outside the Forbidden Forest. That is the only place where He lets his true feelings show.  
  
I think that I may be the only person to have ever seen Him cry. That fact brings me great pleasure - that I, someone who should know NOTHING about him, know more about him than someone else - maybe even his friends. If they can be called that. Bodyguards can hardly qualify as 'friends'. But every time He cries, I want to do nothing more than hold him, comfort him, kiss away his tears . . . promise him that everything will OK.  
  
But I can never do that.  
  
That is more what Harry and Hermione would do. People who are going out together. People who love each other.  
  
Not sworn enemies. That could never work.  
  
It most certainly would never work if the love was one-sided.  
  
Yes, I admit it. I'm gay. And I'm in love with Him.  
  
I've known I was gay for a while, now. Ever since fourth year, actually. If I had actually paid attention to other people apart from Hermione and Krum at the Yule Ball, I bet I would've been eyeing up the boys without realising it. I'm guessing the reason I was jealous of Hermione and Krum was because I had a crush on her date. Stupid, really.  
  
But that was before I got to know the Him. The real Him.  
  
It didn't happen overnight. Certainly not. In fifth year I began watching him. He'd been . . . quieter. More solitary. In sixth year I caught the person hiding under the charade.  
  
I remember that night so well. He was crying. I was there. He let me comfort him.  
  
I don't know about him, but I have never forgotten that. And I don't think I will for many years to come.  
  
He doesn't know, but I have been following him ever since that night. He probably thinks I don't care, but I do, I do. That is why I always come to the place just outside the Forbidden Forest. I watch him. Watch him cry, watch his platinum blonde hair shining in the moonlight, watch his . . .  
  
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh SHIT.  
  
He's gone. He's not under that tree anymore. How could I have let myself get so absorbed in my thoughts and memories that I didn't notice him leave?  
  
I'm so stupid. Stupid stupid STUPID.  
  
Where has he gone? What if I accidentally run into him and the cloak gets pulled off? What if I get caught by Harry coming back to the Gryffindor boy dormitories at four in the morning? What if . . .  
  
There's movement. Movement in the bushes in front of me. I back away slowly, and in the nervous state I am, I back into a tree and one of the branches pull the cloak off.  
  
Oh crap. I am in deep shit.  
  
The bushes rustle some more. I move towards them.  
  
Closer, closer and closer . . .  
  
Suddenly I find myself staring into two mysterious grey eyes.  
  
It's Him.  
  
I feel my breathing quicken as he speaks.  
  
"Hello Weasley." 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow, people are actually READING this!!! Cool! OK, since five of you have so nicely reviewed my story (yayayay!) I will continue it just for you! I hope you feel PRIVELIGED lol! If anyone has any idea/suggestions etc on what I should do next in this story, do not be afraid to tell me IN A REVIEW!!! *cough*  
  
  
  
  
  
Broken Angel  
  
  
  
Chapter 2  
  
  
  
"M-M-Malfoy," I stutter.  
  
"Weasley." He says again. "Were you following me?" he asks, his voice calm.  
  
What should I say? How should I answer? If I say yes, he'll think I'm some crazy stalker, but if I say no, I'll be lying to myself and . . . oh, what the hec, I ALWAYS lie to myself!  
  
"No," I answer. I am ashamed to say that my voice wavered a bit.  
  
"Really?" He raises an eyebrow. "Took you a while to answer," he states.  
  
Oh Merlin, please don't let him be suspicious.  
  
My throat feels dry as I speak.  
  
"What are you implying? That I'm . . . stalking you?" I ask, trying to sound disgusted.  
  
"I'm not implying anything. Just . . ." his voice trails off.  
  
"Just what?" I want to know.  
  
"You were watching me," he says quietly, locking eyes with me.  
  
I swallow.  
  
"So what if I was?" I ask.  
  
"You've been watching me for a while," he states.  
  
Oh no. He can't possibly . . . he can't have . . . how can he know? I was so careful!  
  
"No I haven't," I say weakly.  
  
"Liar," he says quietly. "You've been watching me ever since that night, haven't you?" he accuses, his usually calm voice letting in some anger. "That night when I . . . when you saw me . . ." he can't seem to finish his sentence.  
  
"Crying?" I finish gently.  
  
He glares at me.  
  
"A Malfoy never cries. Crying is for the weak." He says firmly.  
  
Damn his pride. Stupid gorgeous Malfoy. In denial: about CRYING.  
  
"No, it isn't. Crying is emotion. Emotions are good, they help you-" I start, trying to get him to see that it's nothing to be ashamed of.  
  
"Help you what, Weasley? Make a fool of yourself? Show weakness to your enemies?" he spits spitefully.  
  
"Oh, come on, Malfoy! Crying does NOT show weakness! It shows emotion: that you can . . . feel," I try to explain to him.  
  
Hec, I can't even count how many times I'VE cried . . . over Him. Over how he would never see me in the light that I see him. If he ever found out . . . no, he won't. Unless I tell him. And that's not gonna happen. No one else knows, do they? No one apart from myself know that I . . .  
  
That I what? Care for him? Pity him? Lo- no. Don't even go there, Ron. God, who would've thought that I'd be having an argument with Dra-I mean Malfoy, about CRYING.  
  
"Look, Weasel, I know that every time you get insulted you run crying to Potter, telling him to kill the 'Big Bad Insultor' - you think that doesn't show weakness? Then what DOES?" he asks.  
  
I don't know. I tell him that.  
  
"You see? Crying is for the weak," he sneers. "Now tell me, Weasel, why the HELL have you been following me since that night?" he spits.  
  
Damn. I thought he'd forgotten about what started this conversation.  
  
"Um . . ." I say.  
  
Oh, great way to start your explanation, Ron.  
  
"Er . . ." I try again.  
  
OK, that can't even be counted as an IMPROVEMENT from my previous sentence.  
  
He arches a golden-blonde eyebrow.  
  
"Well?" he presses on. "Are-you-going-to-tell-me-or-not? Or-do-I-have-to- beat-the-shit-out-of-you-first?" he asks, as if speaking to a child.  
  
Which he is. Judging by the fact that I am sixteen and - no, wait. At sixteen you can be called an adult. Right? Right? OK, deep breaths Ron, deep breaths.  
  
"Uh . . ." I say (probably just to continue the pattern of non-grammatic words).  
  
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Weasley! Can't you even answer a bloody question?" he hisses.  
  
"Erm . . ." oh come on - this is just getting RIDICULOUS!  
  
Draco growls.  
  
Wait. Draco . . . growls?  
  
He slams me against the tree. Oh shit, I can feel his breathing on my face. Oh, and, did I mention that there is a branch digging into my back?  
  
"Why. Have. You. Been. Following. Me. Since. That. Night?" he growls.  
  
I swallow.  
  
He's so close to me . . . oh, if only he would just move a smidgen forward and close the gap between us, and-  
  
No, no, NO Ron, do NOT go there!  
  
"I-I-I . . ." I stutter.  
  
He smirks.  
  
"Scared, Weasel?" he asks.  
  
Oh yeah I'm scared.  
  
Scared of what's gonna be pushing it's way out of my pants in a minute or two.  
  
I swallow audibly.  
  
He smirks.  
  
Lucky he doesn't know it's because I get so nervous when I'm around him. He really is an angel. He certainly looks like one.  
  
But that's not the only reason I like him. I like him because . . . well, because of a number of things, actually. The main one being there's more to him than first meets the eye.  
  
Watching him for just under a year has proved that.  
  
"Weasley, are you going to tell me why you've been stalking me, or not?" he whispers huskily. Well, at least it sounds husky to me.  
  
I swallow again.  
  
Damn. He's moving his face closer and closer towards mine.  
  
My eyes are as wide as saucers.  
  
Then he turns, just at the last moment, and-  
  
Shit.  
  
He's looking down at my jeans.  
  
I look down as well.  
  
Oh dear, sweet Merlin. There is quite an obvious bulge sticking out.  
  
He immediately pulls away, staring at me with a mixture of shock and disgust on his face.  
  
"Y-you sick f-f-fag. Y-y-you've been g-getting turned on by this y-y-you fairy!" he stutters, turning away and bolting to Hogwarts as fast as he can.  
  
Shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck.  
  
You've really done it now, Ron.  
  
What if he tells anyone?  
  
Oh shit.  
  
What about Harry? Hermione? What will they say?  
  
But it's not my fault, is it? I-I-I mean I-I-I'm a-a hormone-driven teenager, right?  
  
Bloody hell, I'm stuttering in my thoughts.  
  
Denial gets you nowhere!  
  
Oh shit. I'm gonna have to talk to him tomorrow. Tell him that I was thinking of, uh, Fleur. Yeah, that's it, Fleur Delacour. She's visited a few times since forth year. She's actually really nice once you get your head round how beautiful she is - she lost some of that attractiveness when I figured out that I was gay, but still, same thing.  
  
Dammit, I shouldn't be thinking about her at a time like this!  
  
I have to confront Draco tomorrow. If he hasn't told the world, that is.  
  
I sigh, pick up the invisibility cloak off the ground, and start walking back to Hogwarts. 


	3. Chaper 3

A/N: Here's the long awaited *cough* Chapter 3 of Broken Angel! Yaaaaaay! You can cue the round of applause now, people. Thank you soooooooooo much for all your reviews, I'm really glad that people are liking this story! OK, I started writing this fic with --fully-- angsty intentions - but then it turned into a bit of a humorous fic, what with Ron's simply adorable (well, at least I find it adorable) dorkiness. Oh, and for the person who said that this had too much swearing - it's rated PG-13 for a reason, ya know. And that reason's not cos of English muffins making frequent cameos (which will be featured in this chapter, I'll have you know). Well, anyway, enough of me boring you all silly with my rambling. Read on (& review)!  
  
Broken Angel  
  
Chapter 3  
  
I stir, and slowly open my eyes. I yawn and stretch my arms. I wonder what the time is? Hmmm . . .  
  
I open the curtains of my four-poster . . .  
  
And am greeted with the sight of a half-naked Harry Potter running round and round the room in circles like a . . . like a . . . like a headless chicken.  
  
"Merlin, Harry! What the hell are you trying to do? Blind me with your half- nakedness?" I yell.  
  
"Not funny," he says, not pausing from running around in circles. No, wait . . . he isn't just running . . . in fact, he's checking inside everyone's trunks . . . hey!  
  
"Hey!" I cry. "What the blazing hell d'ya think you're doing to my trunk?" I yell. Harry stops in the middle of rummaging about in my broken chest of a trunk.  
  
"Sorry, Ron, it's just that . . . I think I've . . ." he paused, not looking sure if he should tell me or not. "I've lost my . . ." his voice trails off.  
  
"Condoms?" I offer helpfully.  
  
Harry gives me a look.  
  
"No, I think . . . I think I've lost my wand," he says seriously.  
  
There is a pause.  
  
And I burst out laughing.  
  
"You've lost your - your . . . y-y-y-your wand?" I say, barely able to speak through my lack of breath because of the laughter. "That's worse than losing condoms, Harry!" I yell, then start laughing all over again.  
  
Oh-oh. Harry's scowling at me . . .  
  
I cease my laughing instantly. Why does he have to be so damn serious in the morning? It's a wonderful day!  
  
"Sorry, Harry." I say apologetically. "Where did you last see it?" I ask him.  
  
"Er . . . I dunno," he resumes running around like a headless chicken.  
  
"Well that's helpful. Oh, come on, Harry. Do you honestly think you're gonna find it in Seamus's trunk of junk?" I scoff, as Harry pulls out some pink fluffy handcuffs from our dear Irish friend's trunk. He looks at them for a moment, shudders at the thought of who Seamus's poor female lover for the night was, drops them back into the trunk, and starts running round and round again.  
  
"Harry, stop it! You're giving me a headache!" I complain, burying my head in my hands. When I lift my head back up I see that Harry is not running around the room half-naked, no. He is crawling along the floor half-naked. I would've laughed at the comical sight, if I hadn't been too worried that Harry's scowl would burn a hole through me.  
  
I sigh, and jump out of bed. I open the curtains.  
  
What a lovely morning! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the trees are growing . . .  
  
Tree!? TREE!  
  
Dammit! Last night! With Draco! Near the tree! Shit! I can't believe that I only remembered it just now!  
  
"Fuck!" I curse.  
  
"What is it, Ron?" Harry asks, still on the floor looking for his wand.  
  
"Uh - nothing!" I call, grabbing some clothes and running to the bathroom to change. I vaguely acknowledge that Neville, Seamus and Dean aren't in their beds. They must have gone to breakfast.  
  
Dammit! Breakfast! What if Draco tells the whole school? Argh! Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit "SHIT!"  
  
Whoops. Heh-heh. I think I yelled that last bit out too loud. But my damn jeans just won't - come - on! There! Finally pulled them on! OK, now, a shirt, a shirt. I quickly pull the shirt on, jump into my trainers, slam the bathroom door open (nearly breaking Harry's nose), and run out of the Sixth Year Boy's Dorms.  
  
"There it is!" I hear Harry cry behind me. He must've found his wand, then.  
  
OK, back to the more pressing matters at hand.  
  
Get. To. Great. Hall. Now.  
  
Quick.  
  
I bump into a third year in my haste to get out of the Common Room. Then I am stopped because of a traffic jam between some tiny first years.  
  
Get. To. Great. Hall. Now.  
  
Make that double quick.  
  
I finally run into the Great Hall panting, almost expecting everyone to immediately lapse into silence, stare at me, then start pointedly whispering behind their hands.  
  
Thankfully, none of that happens. In fact, the only person that seems to pay attention to me is Hermione, who looks up from the book she's reading, makes a tutting noise, then looks back down.  
  
I plonk myself down beside her.  
  
I feel incredibly light-headed. If Draco hasn't told anyone . . . then that's good. Really good. My eyes quickly roam the hall, searching for that shock of blonde hair. I find none. Hmmm . . . he must still be in bed. Oh God, I can't believe what actually HAPPENED yesterday! But still. If Dra- um, Malfoy, hasn't told anyone, and he's obviously (well, hopefully) not going to, there's no reason to worry, is there?  
  
"Oooh! An English muffin!" I say, reaching for the appetizing muffin.  
  
"Good morning to you too," Hermione says, closing her book. "Ron, why are you so late to breakfast?" she asks.  
  
"Well, I gotth tto sthleep late. I wath laying awakth all nighth thinkin' 'bout tha Tranthfigoorathon homework," I spit, my mouth full of food. Sausages, mash, carrots and a bit of an English muffin, in fact.  
  
Hermione shakes her head, smiling.  
  
"I simply refuse to believe that the Ronald Weasley was actually kept awake by thoughts of homework. Plus, there's also the fact that we didn't even get any Transfiguration homework." she says.  
  
"Homework can give you nightmares, ya know. Whether you have any, or not." I say. But not before I've swallowed my food, of course.  
  
"Ron, where's Harry?" Hermione asks suddenly, unable to keep the interest out of her voice. Well, they ARE going out, after all.  
  
"Oh, he's just crawling around the floor half naked," I say carelessly. Then I notice the look on Hermione's face. "Well that's what he was doing when I --last-- saw him!" I say. I notice that she STILL has the look on her face. "He lost his wand," I explain.  
  
"Oh. Really?" Hermione sounds worried. Sigh . . . well he IS her boyfriend, after all.  
  
"But I think he found it, judging by the 'There it is!' I heard him cry before I left the room." I explain, trying to calm the poor girl's nerves. My words of comfort don't seem to be working, for Hermione is twisting around in her seat, trying to see if Harry's entered the Great Hall yet.  
  
By Merlin's arse.  
  
He's just entered the Great Hall.  
  
No, not, he, Harry Potter, but he, as in He, with a capital 'H'. Draco Malfoy. The bane of my di - er . . . existence.  
  
He looks kind of worse for wear. He has bags under his eyes, and he hasn't gelled his hair back. It's hanging down into his eyes, and he's just brushed some of it away . . . ooh . . . sexy . . . ahem. But he really should do that more often. I mean, let his hair down. Stop using gel.  
  
"Ron? Ron? Earth to Ronald Weasley!" I hear Hermione say, though her voice sounds quite far away, and I see a blob being waved in front of my face. No, wait, it isn't a blob . . . it's probably Hermione's hand, or something like it.  
  
"Er . . . um . . . yeah, sure. I'm fine," I say, still staring at Draco, who's taking a seat between Crabbe and Goyle (or is Goyle and Crabbe?), and I stick my elbow into something (vaguely noticing that it's mushy).  
  
"Ron? Are you --sure-- you're alright?" Hermione asks, looking concerned. "I mean, first you go silent, and you even stop chewing your food, staring into space, and then you go stick your elbow into some mashed potatoes," I vaguely acknowledge her saying.  
  
"Ah . . . so that's it . . . yeah, I get you," I say, my mind not really registering with what she's saying. I mean, come on! I'm looking at Draco Malfoy, for Chrissakes! How can she expect me to listen to her, or anyone else, when I'm staring at a piece of art as fine as this.  
  
God, that body . . .  
  
Argh! Argh! No no no no! Little Ron, NO! Down, down boy! I can't afford to get an erection in the middle of BREAKFAST, for God's sake! OK, OK, Ron, calm down, calm down. Think of something really nasty like . . . like . . . Filch and Lockhart going at it like rabbits.  
  
Oh God! Now WHY did I have to think that? I'm gonna have absolutely terrible mental images for the rest of the day!  
  
Oh well, at least Ron Jr's actually . . . what word can I use? Deflated at that thought.  
  
I start staring at Draco again. I almost jump when his eyes suddenly meet mine. His face quickly turns into a scowl, and he gives me a look of absolute disgust, then turns away again, and starts talking to Pansy Parkinson.  
  
I sigh. His eyes were such a stormy grey . . . OK, now I'm starting to get edgy. What if he tells someone? No, no, he wouldn't, no, don't you worry yourself, Ron.  
  
He really wouldn't. He's too embarrassed. Ashamed.  
  
Even though --I'm-- the one that should be ashamed.  
  
So, I don't have to worry, really. He won't tell anyone.  
  
Will he? 


End file.
